


i don't wanna break these chains

by handcuffedhale (fizzingweaselbee)



Series: Poison [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:25:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1559816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzingweaselbee/pseuds/handcuffedhale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles sighed, running his finger around the rim of his mug. "Me and Derek had a fight. Not a normal one about dishes or laundry, a real one."</p>
            </blockquote>





	i don't wanna break these chains

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to contine "running deep inside my veins", so this is an overlap & continuation more from Stiles' POV
> 
> Posted on my [Tumblr](http://handcuffedhale.tumblr.com)
> 
> *
> 
> Heads up: The Sheriff threatens Derek, and I was aiming for the "hurt him and I'll hurt you" angle, but it may not have come across that way, so obviously threatening someone with a gun is not a reasonable response to emotional pain. Sorry for any misconceptions.

Initially, it really had been forgetfulness. He'd sworn when he'd gotten to Scott's and realised his favorite hoodie was still at Derek's, swearing again when it started to rain on the walk from his Jeep to the grocery store for an emergency snack run.

But when Stiles had next gone round and seen the hoodie balled up on Stiles' side of Derek's bed, a feeling bubbled in his stomach and his face split into a wide smile.

After that, he kept leaving things there; he stumbled out of his house one morning with a hot mug of coffee still in his hands, driven over to Derek's and stayed for half an hour before school, leaving the mug there (never mind that it was his favorite - maybe because it was his favorite). 

The toothbrush had been a bigger step, but Derek didn't seem to notice it, so Stiles counted it as half a win; he wasn't sure if he wanted Derek to figure out what he was doing or not.

He'd moved almost half of his essential stuff to Derek's before Derek noticed - it was halfway through the summer after graduation when Derek asked him to move in, voice still rough from sleep and tired frown fixed in place.

Stiles swallowed a sip of boiling hot coffee, eyes watering, so he smacked Derek in the shoulder with his newspaper before dropping a kiss on his cheek, He grabbed his phone, dialling Scott with a wide grin, watching Derek's reaction out of the corner of his eye as he told Scott, not having to exaggerate the excitement in his voice as he talked about finally and happy, and Scott expressed his disbelief at Derek and Stiles as he always did, despite it having been eight or eleven months since their whole thing started.

In true Stiles and Derek style, they weren't provided with a honeymoon period aside from the day Stiles moved in, when Derek was on him as soon as the others left, mouth hot and demanding against his; they'd fucked in what was 100% their bed now, and Stiles had teased Derek about how possessive he was before kissing him.

After that, though, the constant proximity of living together seemed to exacerbate some of their petty issues. The amount of times Derek had grouched at Stiles for leaving the dishes in the sink (which Stiles had cleverly deflected with some movie or other), or Stiles had yelled at Derek for his 'weird wolfy possessiveness over inanimate objects'.

Those spats always ended the same way, though, with one of the two apologising (although not so much in words, more usually in food, coffee, or a particularly sweet kiss) and things going back to normal before the next time Derek stormed into the kitchen holding a red hoodie Stiles had accidentally mixed in with the white wash.

Their first huge fight had an entirely different flavour.

**

"Stiles?" John Stilinski stared at his son, who stood in the doorway in a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms..

Stiles smiled weakly. "Hey, Dad. Can I come in?" he asked, and John nodded, stepping to the side, eyes scanning the road for a minute before he followed his son inside.

Stiles was making hot chocolate, and John watched from the doorway, the movements familiar from the many times one or the other of the Stilinskis was sad, or stressed, or had just had a shitty time of it. 

Stiles hadn't made himself a hot chocolate in almost eight months.

He handed one to John, keeping one back for himself, holding it against his chest and staring at his shoes.

"Stiles, what's wrong?" John finally broke the silence, curiosity finally getting the better of him.

Stiles' eyes flicked to him and then away, and he took a sip of the hot chocolate. John knew avoidance when he saw it, so he moved into the room, gesturing for Stiles to sit, which he did after a pause. John waited until he was settled before sitting down opposite him. "Son?"

Stiles sighed, running his finger around the rim of his mug. "Me and Derek had a fight. Not a normal one about dishes or laundry, a real one."

John nodded. "People in relationships fight, stay here tonight so you can both cool off, and then go home in the morning and talk it out." It didn't feel strange to call somewhere else home for Stiles any more, hadn't for a while, really.

"I don't think that's going to work for us," Stiles whispered. "This wasn't just a relationship fight, it was..." he paused, swallowing loudly. "it felt like a break up. We said horrible things, I mean, I said," he broke off, burying his head in his hands, and John's heart broke because he hadn't seen Stiles like this since Claudia. "I didn't mean it but I said it anyway, and he said stuff back, and it got worse and worse until I left. I was driving and I had to pull over and I couldn't breathe and what if I've ruined it? What if I've fucked it all up, it wouldn't be the first time." Stiles breaths came in gasps, and John squeezed his hand.

"Stiles, I need you to calm down, okay? In for four, out for eight," John coached him, and Stiles nodded, inhaling with little hitches. "I get that you don't want to give me any more details, and that is perfectly fine. You can stay here as long as you want, or you can go to Scott's, just take some time to figure everything out. Because from what it sounds like, son, you weren't the only one throwing hits." Stiles nodded, wiping at his eyes.

He picked up his hot chocolate. "I think I'm gonna head to bed, okay? Thank you, Dad. Love you." He offered his Dad a weak smile, climbing the stairs slowly.

John waited until he heard Stiles' door before he stood, walking to the front door and opening it. "If you're out there, Derek, I hope you're happy. Fix this, or you'll find yourself with a few bullets in your side. Normal ones, because if I killed you it would hurt Stiles even more, but normal bullets can still cause you a hell of a lot of pain." He sighed. "Stiles is too young to know how to fix this, you're older, that means you've got to figure it out." He patted the side of the door, staring out into the night before shutting the door.

He checked in on Stiles before he went to sleep, finding his son curled up under his covers, window shut and locked.

**

Stiles woke up at around three am, tossing and turning before giving in and getting up, picking up the half-full mug of congealed hot chocolate and taking it downstairs.

He let out a strangled yelp at the dark shape at the table, eyes adjusting to make out the familiar shape of Derek's broad shoulders. He switched the light on, blinking at the change before striding past Derek to the sink, dropping the mug in and washing it up.

"What do you want?" he asked tersely, exhaling heavily when Derek remained silent. "If you're not going to say anything, you need to leave. This isn't fair," his strong tone broke on the last word, and Derek's shoulders hunched. "Please, Der, I can't."

The broken whisper seemed to prompt Derek, and he stood quietly; instead of heading for the door, though, he walked until he was about a foot away from Stiles. "I," Derek paused, as if waiting for Stiles to jump in like he usually did, but Stiles refused to help this time. "I didn't mean to - I didn't want to..." he paused, growling in frustration. "Fuck, Stiles, I don't want that to be the end."

His words sunk in, and Stiles narrowed his eyes. "You were listening. This is what I mean about privacy, Derek. Get out," he ordered, but Derek shook his head.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay, because I was hurting and I knew you would be too and I know the way you handle it isn't," he trailed off. "I know I shouldn't have, but I wanted to check you were okay,"

Stiles spread his arms. "Look, all healthy, no physical harm to speak of," he announced, but Derek was staring at his red-rimmed eyes. "If we can bring up that stuff and use it to hurt each other, maybe we're not meant for this." He gestured between them. "And I really didn't want to have this conversation at three in the morning in my kitchen."

"Okay," Derek replied quietly, turning away, head hunched and reminding Stiles so fiercely of a kicked puppy that he had to clamp down on a hysterical laugh.

And it was too quick, too easy. "Okay? That's it?" he demanded, and Derek stopped, looking over his shoulder and the look in his eyes floored Stiles.

"I don't want to hurt you, Stiles. I think the third time is enough to identify a pattern."

Stiles didn't mean to, he was going to let Derek walk away, but then he was standing in front of him, and Derek could've pushed past him easily but he didn't, and Stiles pressed his lips to Derek's hard, biting down on his lower lip. "I don't want to, shit, Der, I don't want you to leave, what happened to fighting no matter what?"

"We can't fix this the same way, Stiles," Derek replied, hands too tight on Stiles shoulders.

Stiles shook his head. "I know, but we can fix it, we have to, okay? Because I can't, I just can't, Derek."

The alpha seemed to crumble, falling against Stiles and pressing his face against the other man's throat. Stiles' arms wrapped around him, one hand stroking Derek's hair as the other one gripped the back of his Henley.

"We'll talk later, okay?" he said softly, and Derek nodded, moving only when they began to walk. 

He faced Stiles in bed instead of curling around him like usual, and they fell asleep with their foreheads pressed together, legs tangled.


End file.
